


Runaway

by china_shop



Category: due South
Genre: Angst, Fic, Gen, Snippets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-24
Updated: 2010-10-24
Packaged: 2017-10-12 20:54:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/128981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/china_shop/pseuds/china_shop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oh, man, Fraser. I love you like crazy, but you have no idea how crazy you make me. If I have to watch you step out unarmed in front of a dumbfuck with a gun in his shaking hand one more time, I'm gonna end up in Bellevue singing nursery rhymes with my fingers in my ears.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Runaway

Oh, man, Fraser. I love you like crazy, but you have no idea how crazy you make me. If I have to watch you step out unarmed in front of a dumbfuck with a gun in his shaking hand _one more time_ , I'm gonna end up in Bellevue singing nursery rhymes with my fingers in my ears. You know what I'm talking about here? It's not that I don't trust you. No, it's not _about_ trust. It's about I _know_ this city, I know these people, and they are _not_ polite, and they do not say, "Yes, here, please take my gun, sir, thank you kindly."

I just— I can't take this anymore.

It's going round my head, this whole speech. I want to yell it at him, whisper it to him, _brand_ it into his _skin_ , but my hands are shaking while I slam on the cuffs and shove the perp into the car, and my throat hurts, and Fraser's too busy giving a lecture on Respect for Public Property and the Body is a Temple and Hey Kids, Don't Do Drugs to even listen anyway. So I keep my eyes on the road and my mouth shut, and I think, Why now? I have been here a hundred times, feeling the dread and adrenaline drain away, leaving me cold like maybe Mort should take a knife to me. Why this time does it feel like the last time?

I don't know. Fraser's casting me sideways looks — I can see out of the corner of my eye — like he knows something's up, but there's nothing I can do. If I start to crumble now, I'm going to end up like one of those old buildings in Greece. The Coliseum or the Acropolis. I'm gonna end up ruined.

We take the guy to the station and book him (surprise, surprise — he's got priors for possession), and then it's five-thirty and I say, "Come on, Fraser. I'll take you home."

He throws me a look, because it's Tuesday and most times on Tuesdays we go out — catch a movie, take in a meal, maybe. We went bowling one time. One time he dragged me to the public library. But I can't do that tonight, and maybe he sees that, because he just nods thanks, and follows me down to the parking lot.

The Consulate looks cold and bleak as ever, but I squash down any guilt I have about leaving him there. He's a grown man, and he chooses to live there. It's not like they don't pay him. For the first time I wonder if he stays there on purpose so I'll worry. I wonder if he _wants_ me to nag. ("For Christ's sake, Frase. Get yourself a goddamned apartment.") But that's always my trap — thinking the world revolves around me. I shrug it off. "Be seeing you," I say, as Fraser gets out of the car.

Like always, I resist the urge to pat his arm. His shoulder. His thigh.

He leans back in to say goodnight. "Have a pleasant evening, Ray." His eyes are dark, concerned, but I gun the engine, just a little, and he gets the message and shuts the door.

I go back to my apartment. My Vecchio apartment. I walk in quick, not looking around. I haven't thought this through, but it seems like I don't need to. It's like a plan's been building in the back of my head all along, I just didn't know it. I grab an old duffle bag, and shove some t-shirts, some underwear, a pair of jeans, and my toothbrush into it. Shrug out of my sports jacket and grab the black leather. Check I've got my glasses and my wallet, and I'm out of there. I'm gone, baby.

Eat my dust.

Shouldn't say that. Fraser probably will. Lick it, at least.

I'm on the road before I even know where I'm heading. I figure if I follow my nose, something will unfold. I figure there's a whole big country out here to get lost in, and I won't be the first to just up and disappear.


End file.
